Life - it's shorter than we think...

Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose 

he knows not, though he sometimes thinks he senses 

it. But with deeper reflection one knows from daily 

life that one exists for other people.

 - Albert Einstein

 

What would you have said, thought, or done had you known it was the last time you would see someone for whom you cared? A parent…a friend…a lover. The thoughtless expectation there would be another time…and then there wasn’t.

 

I was twelve and in the seventh grade. 

 

The shoes were a size nine, a cream-colored pair of leather slip-ons. The upper, just ahead of the arch, was a tight black knitting. They were very cool and my father’s favorite pair.  

 

I had taken them (without permission) to go to a seventh-grade talent show hoping my dad would not find out. There was a girl in a homeroom across the hall; Marilyn was her name. For some reason, we had been paired to do a free-flowing duet to the strains of Frank Sinatra’s rendition of ‘High Hopes.’

 

            “Next time you’re found 

With your chin on the ground

There’s a lot to be learned

So look around…’

 

Just what makes that little old ant

Think he'll move that rubber tree plant

Anyone knows an ant can't

Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes

 

He's got high hopes

He's got high apple pie

In the sky hopes

So any time you're gettin' low

'Stead of lettin' go

Just remember that ant

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant…”

 

Those size nines were wonderful but only a transition to a foot growth ending in fourteens. But at the time, I was sure they would fit forever. A few months later, I tried to put them on, but alas, my feet had moved on, and I needed bigger shoes. They fit, and then they didn’t

 

I enjoyed playing the part with that young girl and in fact, relished being around her through high school. She was creative, smart, driven, focused, a little narcissistic, and a worker bee. A person who seemed to know that where she lived was only a transition to where she was going - and it wasn’t to stay in the town of her birth. I thought we would always be friends. But she had high hopes for bigger shoes, and over time, she found them. She was there, and then she wasn’t.

 

My best friend in high school was John. There was little we didn’t do together. Like two peas in a pod, I thought we would be friends "forever and a day…" Like Marilyn, John was brilliant, thoughtful, sensitive, and the best friend a young fellow could have. Then, life happened, and lessons were learned from missteps. It was a hard, in those days, to understand that life was fluid…things would not always remain the same. As with Marilyn, the universe had other plans. He was there, and then he wasn’t.

 

I did not understand the nature of change. Life was supposed to remain constant, wasn’t it? It had certainly seemed that way when I was young. I mean, it did in my brain. But my heart needed to learn that life was constantly on the move, adjusting, and becoming something different and new. Things and people were there, and then they weren’t

 

Losing my high school friends was confusing and painful. As time passed, I learned to be more careful with the people for whom I cared. I came to appreciate that in youth, what appeared to be permanent, so easily slipped away.

 

In my life, there have been many transactional relationships — people I have enjoyed and with whom I have had meaningful experiences. But true friendships? Close and consequential relationships? Folks for whom I have removed barriers to entry in my life? 

 

There have been few. Life lessons have taught me to cherish and cultivate them…they are the ones who have continued to feed my soul.  

 

In the last few years, I have lost some of those few. The ones with whom I had a deep and abiding love. They were there, and then they weren't.

 

When I post notifications about a blog, I generally say, "If you love someone – tell 'em.” This is not a casual comment, because, in fact, you may never be able to let them know.

 

Close friends in my youth slipped away because I did not appreciate the importance of 'tending the garden.'

 

At this time of my life, I understand the uncertainty and the reality of loss. So, I tell people I love them because, you know, it could be the last time…

 

- ted

Out of the darkness came a heart...

“Love is like a child that longs 

for everything it can come by.”

 - William Shakespeare

 

The room was pitch black. 

 

It had been a busy day. More activity than I was used to. It was one of those nights where you hope that when you fall forward, like one of those outward-bound programs, you will land in something soft, safe, and comforting. I think I remember hitting the bed!

 

Sometime in the night and somewhere in the reaches of my mind there came what appeared to be ragged breathing. As consciousness tugged at the curtain of sleep, the irregular hissing seemed to get louder. 

 

I dream every night and have had only one nightmare in my life. Fifty years later and in a state of semi-consciousness, I wondered whether this might be my second one. You know the senselessness of REM sleep when you’re trying to hang on to the imagery of the night. The time when the most outrageous, seems normal and acceptable.

 

Lying on my left side facing inward on the bed, I suddenly felt a sharp poking on my right shoulder blade. This was not a soft-landing ‘return to the world.’ What the heck was going on.  I felt a surge of adrenaline and I was awake – moderately confused but awake! 

 

In this state of moderate bewilderment, I heard the voice of a five-year-old, “I can’t sleep. Can I get in bed with you?” 

 

Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was three a.m.

 

When I am asleep, there is little short of a fire alarm, house security system, or metabolic urgency that can wake me up. I didn’t hear the youngster open the door or come in the room and I don’t know how long he stood by the side of the bed unsure of how to get my attention. But get it he did.

 

Shaking my head to clear the final cobwebs, I said, “Climb on in boy,” and up he came. He may be all of four feet in height, I am unsure, but when I put my arms around him in a gentle hug, it seemed like there was little there. After a few minutes, I said, “Why don’t I turn over and you can hug me?” As his little arm came from behind, part way across my rib cage, we both drifted off to sleep where we remained through the night.

 

Some back story…

My niece and her hubby were looking forward to a little holiday time together. With three young children and two busy medical practices, not to mention the COVID, there had been little time for them to spend together.

 

They asked whether we might be willing to come for a few days to take care of the youngsters, while they were gone. I had not seen the children in person for more than two years because of the COVID, and never met the little girl in person. Molly had slipped east between the Delta and Omicron variants to spend a few days, but I remained home with the cats. I knew the kids really loved her, but how would they react to me? Maybe more to the point, how would I react to them.

 

We were excited about the opportunity to spend time with the two boys, and to meet the two-year-old girl. Since Molly and I don’t have children, my niece and her family are the closest to grandchildren (grand nephews and nieces really) that we have. 

 

When the time came, we hopped on a plane from Tucson and headed out for the unknown adventure in the household of my niece. 

 

As it turned out, it was a great adventure. Any trepidation I had trying to help Molly manage the children slipped away when we walked in the door. They pulled us in to their hearts so quickly, it was as if we had been them every weekend from their births. 

 

Two days after we arrived, my niece and her hubby were out the door for their well-earned, if too short, holiday. The rest of the week was a family bonding that I had not really expected.

 

The boys and I played a little basketball, some board games, and visited a school playground. I was a vicarious participant in the age-appropriate video games they played with a finesse that belied their tender ages. My favorite time with them was in the morning when they reluctantly got up to the strains of “Good morning fellow Campers…” a song my mother wakened us most cottage mornings on holidays in Canada. As I sang to their sleepy faces in the mornings, I felt the softness and joy of my mother’s love. The second best time was reading to them before bed.

 

Most importantly, we all felt safe together. The parents returned from their time together tired but appeared to have enjoyed themselves. 

 

When it was time to leave, we all left a little teary-eyed, vowing to see one another as soon as the time was right again...the memory of the shared experience with that little guy embedded in my heart.

 

I was reminded of Antoine De Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince. The prince tames a fox and they become friends. When it is time to say goodbye, the fox says he will tell the little prince a secret. 

            “Good-bye,” he said.

            “Good-bye,” said the fox. 

“Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”

 

And so it was…

 

- ted